TE20 Migrant Mosaics

The Sad Guest

German.

And what about?

I write stories about various things, most recently about my family and people I know, I said. I’ve published three short-story collections.

I see, he said.

He told me he was a tradesman and had been living in the city for more than fifty years. He had escaped during the protests in the 60s and had met his wife here, who was from Lublin and had died seven years ago. Now he lived alone, a few streets away.

What kind of tradesman are you? I asked.

A piano tuner, he said. But his hearing was bad now, he told me, otherwise he might still be making a little on the side, at the age of 81, since many people in the richer parts of Berlin had a piano at home. He had a house in his hometown as well but he didn’t know anyone there these days. His son and daughter took their families there on holiday. His pierogi had arrived and he was occupied with eating for a while. I asked him how he liked them, and he said he’d had better but he’d had worse as well. Oh look, he said then, pointing towards the counter where people were queuing up to pay for food from the shop. There’s 27